


Signing On

by Abbytherat



Category: Hazbin Hotel (Web Series)
Genre: Asexual Character, Attempted Rape/Non-Con, Implied/Referenced Cannibalism, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, Minor Character Death, Non-Consensual Bondage, Non-Consensual Touching, Pre-Radio Demon Alastor Had It Rough, Radio Powers Don’t Get You Very Far On Their Own, Skewed Morals, Suicide by Exterminator, Tentacles, Torture
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-11-16
Updated: 2019-12-12
Packaged: 2021-02-07 06:08:05
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 7
Words: 14,040
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21453259
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Abbytherat/pseuds/Abbytherat
Summary: When Alastor first arrived in Hell, he assumed that his deer body was the perfect punishment; that the predator had become the prey.It took him an embarrassingly long time to figure out otherwise.
Comments: 139
Kudos: 710





	1. Nobody Knows You When You’re Down And Out

**Author's Note:**

> Hi there
> 
> I’m not really one for notes, but I just wanted to say it’s been a very long time since I’ve written a Fanfic.
> 
> Hazbin Hotel was just too good to pass up.
> 
> Hope you enjoy.

On Earth a man died, and in Hell a fresh new demon plummeted to the ground. He landed with a dull thud, kicking up a cloud of red dust. This was nothing special. Dozens were raining from the Pentagram every few minutes lately. Desperation had sinners at each other’s throats and they were arriving in Hell in record numbers.

Very slowly, the sore and shaken creature sat up and squinted around at his new surroundings. The red sky and redder earth, the twisted buildings, the inhuman _things_ that were bustling around, ignoring him.

The large billboard that said, “Welcome to Hell.”

Oh...

Some appendage on his behind twitched up and suddenly his body was flooded with fright. He dove for safety just as a purple model T screamed down on him. He pressed his back against the nearest wall as it blew by, a harsh voice calling out, “Ha! You missed!”

As he watched, panting, the car swerved further down the road and crushed a small goat... person... creature beneath it’s wheels.

Hideous laughter chased the vehicle out of sight, and no one so much as looked at the twisted, mangled lump that was was smeared on the sidewalk.

Was it... still breathing? Morbidly curious, he moved closer to get a better look.

Oh yes. It was twitching and gasping in agony. Suddenly, one arm snapped back together and started clawing at the ground, pulling the rest of the broken flesh into an alley and out of sight.

He blinked several times, his eyes wide as they could go. “Well that was troubling.” He tried to say. But the only sound that met his ears was the hiss and whistle of an untuned radio.

He realized that the staticky drone had been there the whole time. Whenever he moved, it shifted, like he was waving a radio antenna around.

Other creatures (Demons?) were noticing the noise as well. They were staring at him. Was... was it coming from _him?_ Also, was he _naked?!_

No... no he was wearing fur? Definitely not what he had on a few minutes ago.

And the ropes were gone! He checked his wrists. Even the gouges and blood he had caused in his struggles were missing. Also, his hands were black and clawed.

He stared at them in fascination and horror.

It got stranger.

Halfway up his forearms, the black switched to plush red fur that ended at his elbows. The skin on his biceps were exposed, but... it was so pale. Like ash or bone.

He scrambled to the nearest window and shuddered at the thing that stared back. It had red on red eyes with slitted pupils and it wore his face, but with the same bleached bone skin and sharp yellow fangs in place of his pearly whites.

There was a tiny red X he noticed on his brow, right where the bullet...

_Don’t think about that!_

His once dark hair was still black at the edges, but the majority of it was red, and... were those ears sticking up at the top? And also antlers?

He gingerly touched them.

Ears and antlers. Yes indeedy.

The rest of him was just as upsetting. He really didn’t have a fur vest on, as he initially thought. Nope, the fur was attached. It covered everything except his face, neck, biceps, and... strangely his midriff. He had been transformed into some sort of beast?

His shoulders, chest, and back were the same red and black as his hair, and he checked over his shoulder at the quivering thing he kept sensing back there.

A tail?!

It looked almost like a white-tailed deer’s tail, only black where it should have been white. It was currently raised in alarm and showing off his back door to the neighbourhood. The back door was also furry and black, but still.

He glared at the tail and slowly it curled down to cover his dignity.

Satisfied, he gave his audience of gawkers a prim smile and turned around to finish the assessment of his reflection.

He wasn’t as bothered by his nakedness as he should have been, and maybe that was because his privates were thankfully still private. The fluffy red fur started up again around his waist and covered that area entirely. In fact, he was pretty sure he was tucked in the way an animal would be.

Thank God for small miracles.

Ugh... why did his head hurt all of a sudden?

He shook that off and looked down at his legs. More red, switching to black just below the knees, and... dress shoes?

Placing one hand on the building for balance, he picked up on if his feet in the other and scrunched himself up to examine it. Hooves... deer hooves with little red pads on the bottom and dewclaws forming the heel. He pressed on one of the pads with his thumb and cringed at the alien sensation.

“You’re handling this better than most, newcomer.”

He dropped his foot and straightened up like a spring, his smile only growing bigger in his embarrassment.

“And you should be. You got damn lucky you know.” There was a hulking green reptile in a tux leering at him from just outside his personal space. “Most demon’s don’t land down here looking so _fine._ What say you come with me and we can get _acquainted_ with your new form.”

The lizard was actually drooling as it... no _he_ started to advance.

The deer demon’s tail was back up as he raised his his hands and backed away. “No! No thank you!” He tried to say. Again, the only sound he made was some distortion in the static he was emanating.

There was another demon - a more traditional looking one with horns and wings - advancing from behind as well. What were they even thinking? Sure, times were hard, but you couldn’t just force yourself on someone in the middle of a busy street! Besides, they were male! How would that even _work?!_

The demony demon grabbed his arms anyways.

He searched around for some help, but the creatures nearby were either chuckling at him, or ignoring his situation and going about their business.

Right... Hell...

The one holding him said, “Gotta go easy on this ‘un Pomp. Levi’s boys might trade us a safe ‘ouse for ‘em if ‘es still in good condition.”

“Agreed.”

And that’s enough of that.

The deer snapped a leg back, stabbing his sharp dewclaws into his captor’s jewels. Thankfully that area was was just as vulnerable on a demon and he was promptly let go.

He socked the lizard in the eye and then bolted out of there faster than a bluenose at Mardi Gras.

In fact, he was surprised at how fast he could move. He had easily made a clean sneak, and it felt like he crossed half the city when he slowed down a few minutes later. He didn’t just have the appearance of a deer, but the grace and speed of one as well.

If only he wasn’t so thin and... delicate.

His heart (did he have a heart?) was drumming a panicked tattoo as it finally sank in that he was literally prey for the damned.

How fitting. Dante really had the right idea with the whole “Devine Comedy” thing. If the deer had been watching this happen to any other cannibal, he would have found it hilarious.

There weren’t as many demons in this area, but heads were already turning his way. Drawn by the static, no doubt. He couldn’t turn it off. He was like a bright red, noisy beacon calling the hungry sinners to himself.

He forced his tail back down and grinned wildly at them because these were literally the only armour he had. Might as well put those sharp teeth to use.

No one approached him this time.

He started walking; searching for somewhere safe to gather himself, but there was nothing but clip joints and gin mills as far as the eye could see. He’d probably get jumped even faster if he went in one of those.

A distant ringing caught his ear and he noticed a far off clock tower chiming out that it was 7 o’clock. Whether it was night or morning, he couldn’t tell. The sky wasn’t showing any signs of changing.

Underneath the clock were the words ‘Next Cleanse 3 Days.’

Ominous...

As far he could tell, the clock tower was at the centre of the city, so he turned his back to it and set his feet in the direction of away.

As he walked he tried to distract himself by putting the few puzzle pieces he had together.

First of all was his name. He couldn’t remember it.

He recalled everything else; his father’s estate, his mother’s hut in the bayou, his years of starvation, his big break, his cushy job at the radio station.

The dead gaze of a corpse as it watched him chop intestines into chitlins.

But his name kept slipping from his grasp.

Maybe it was because his father had gotten him baptized as a baby? His was a _Christian_ name after all. It belonged to God. How could a demon have access to something that belong to God?

He giggled madly at the thought, making the sound of someone twisting the nob on a radio dial.

He could recall _a_ name through; borrowed from some half remembered poem.

Alastor.

The avenger. The name he gave to his first victim as a poor attempt at a joke.

_I suppose it’ll have to do._

Now if only he could talk, he could start introducing himself.

It took awhile, but the buildings eventually thinned into crumbling outskirts. There were still demons around though, crawling through the ruins and trash like vermin.

Before Alastor could get far enough out of the city to escape them he was forced to stop short by the end of the world.

The clean edge that curved in both directions looked like someone had neatly cut a huge circle of land out with a cookie cutter. Beyond it was a black, starry void. Curious, he crouched down and leaned forward to see if he could see how deep the ground went. He got the shock of his life (death?) when he plunged his face into painfully cold water.

He fell back and spluttered as ripples on the glassy water broke the illusion.

Sitting there, wet, cold, and miserable, with someone’s nearby laughter grating on him, he briefly thought of building a boat and taking his chances. However, as he watched his ripples spread across the silent, dark sea he spotted a great black tentacle slide out from the depths, only to slap down on the disturbed water.

Hmmm.... nope.

Alastor’s breathing picked up again and his head swam with blood red static. He was trapped. He was scared.

And he was **hungry...**

Alastor blinked and shook himself. Where had that come from? And were those veves floating around his head?

_Wonderful!_ Another thing to draw attention to himself! _Just_ what he needed!

He sighed and stood up, dusting himself and wringing the last drops of water out of his ears.

He really was getting hungry. Could demons starve to death?

Could he kill and butcher one? If that mangled wretch that had crawled into the alley was any indication, the answer was no.

Perhaps he could cut off a limb?

...He had misgivings about that.

Alastor’s mother taught him to only ever kill if he needed to, and to always eat what he killed. Yes, she had been referring to hunting game and gigging frogs, but he’d taken the lesson to heart.

Every one of his victims absolutely _had_ to die, and once they were dead he couldn’t be expected to let all that meat go to waste.

But the thought of eating part of something when the rest of it was still alive felt... wrong.

Well, he knew from experience that you could rationalize anything when you’re starving.

Good thing he wasn’t. Not yet.

With that thought, he decided that his first course of action was to find something to defend himself with, and his second course was to find something more ethical to eat before he got... _desperate._

_ _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Put this pic in Chapter 7 as well, but thought I’d go back and add it here for any newcomers.


	2. Tea for Two

Alastor had truly thought his days of picking through the trash were behind him, and yet here he was - nosing around the outskirts of Hell in search of anything that could help him survive down here.

He didn’t question his punishments, but he’d be damned (ha!) if he was just gonna lay down and make himself an easy target.

At the very least he wanted some pants.

He thought his luck was turning when he found a wardrobe almost immediately. It was inside a half destroyed bordello that it took him a couple of minutes to work up the nerve to enter, and when he opened it he would have cheered. It was positively stuffed with men’s clothes.

Everything looked decisively Victorian and smelled like they had been dipped in the Thames about fifty years ago.

_Get over yourself Alastor. Beggars can’t be choosers after all._

The first suit he pulled out shocked him by opening it’s eyes. It had about a dozen green, slitted orbs that that stared at him.

All he could do was stare back.

The eyeballs all turned angry at once and sprouted little green wings that they used to spring towards his face. At least a hundred more pored out of the depths of the wardrobe.

Instead of reacting, he froze like a... well, like a deer.

The eyeball bats swarmed him, but the lot of them backed off when he unintentionally gave off a distressed electronic screech. Instead of attacking him, they flew as one out the nearest broken window.

Alastor relaxed, but before he moved, the suit he had picked up disintegrated, leaving only the hanger. Grumbling, he reached back and physically forced his tail down before inspecting the rest of the clothes.

Everything was chewed to Hell and there were... _leavings._

He rolled his eyes and walked away.

Before he could leave the building though, he caught a sound that he recognized from a picture show he had gone to with his friends recently; the hootin’ and hollerin’ of cowpokes.

There was also screaming and cries of, “Fuck! It’s the Snatchers!”

Alastor smoothly pressed himself out of site against a wall and peeked out the doorway to see what was going on.

Demons were scattering everywhere as a horse drawn paddy wagon careened recklessly through the ruins. It was pulled by a team of blue, fiery beasts and had a giant spider in a saloon girl’s dress on the roof.

At first Alastor thought this was just a tasteless decoration, but no. He gulped down his nausea when the spider pulled a rope of silk from her skirts and started swinging it above her head like a lasso.

She deftly snagged one of the fleeing demons and hollered, “Yaaa-Hooo! I got another one!”

The coach stopped long enough for Alastor to make out ‘Levi’s Menagerie’ written on the side of it. There was some sort of symbol as well; a sideways 8 with a double armed cross sprouting from it like a tree.

It looked alchemical, but he had no idea what it was supposed to mean.

The spider woman dragged her newest catch into the cage with a number of others, then banged on the roof. “Reckon that’s enough?”

A dog man grunted at her from the driver’s seat, snapped the reigns, and the whole fiasco peeled off into their own dust.

Alastor slowly let out the breath he’d been holding.

So there were demons enslaving other demons? Not _really_ surprising, but troubling none the less.

He’d be careful to side step _that_ song and dance.

With greater urgency, he renewed his search for clothes and some kind of weapon, but by the hours ticked by and by and by until he was fairly certain it was the next day.

He had flip lighters, a pocket watch, a pair of shoes (that he couldn’t wear). He even found a brand new cathedral radio with an intact transistor.

But there was not so much as a pocket knife to be seen. This was _Hell!_ There should be weapons all over the place!

He kept the watch and the radio in the hopes pawning them, but looked around at the other demons. They were also picking for things, but for what he couldn’t tell. There were so many of them, but still so many valuables lying around, he realized that demons might not have pawn shops.

Or maybe they value completely different things than on Earth.

In an effort to figure this out, Alastor found a nearby mass of grey fur in a duster and watched as it dug in the dirt with it’s claws. It worked carefully until it finally pulled up an old, cracked phonograph cylinder.

There was a flash of amber as it noticed Alastor staring. Luminous yellow eyes narrowed at him before the creature tossed the record over its shoulder and stomped away.

Suddenly the radio in his arms clicked on!

Alastor nearly dropped it and then burned in annoyance when he realized his tail was flashing _again._

He made the difficult decision to stop caring. Instead turning his attention to the fizz of static that had joined his own. He tilted his head in confusion. How was that possible? He could see the cord trailing from the darn thing. It wasn’t even close to being plugged in.

Gingerly he turned the dial, and the strangest thing happened. It felt like he had taken hold of and was tuning something deep within _himself_ as well. It was like he had his own radio dial right where his heart should be.

All the little cabinet could pick up was the faintest and far off catches of screaming, but the static that had been haunting him was starting to change.

His eyes glazed over as he focused on this strange sensation and - _there!_

_Music!_

He didn’t even care that it was that dull Shadow Waltz his producer had him playing on loop. Bing and his strings crooned into the hot, dusty air of Hell - as sweet and intoxicating as a brandy milk punch.

“Where’s that coming from?”

Why did he have to be so good at drawing attention to himself?

“There! That skinny bugger got a radio going!”

And now an entire gang of demons were running this way.

Alastor carefully turned the radio off at the same time that he switched himself back to static. He placed the device on the ground, straightened up, and backed away with his hands raised in placation.

The first to reach him was a female demony demon (horns, wings, and tail), who jumped on her prize and said, “Smart move, deer boy!”

She was immediately picked up by an enormous scorpion-bull hybrid who said, “That’s mine. I saw it first.”

“Piss off, sinner!” The smaller creature screamed as the radio was torn from her grasp.

She was tossed aside while the rest of the demons caught up.

A fight immediately broke out as Alastor continued to slowly backed away. Luckily they were too focused on tearing each other apart over a useless wooden box to notice him or his static.

If those demons were that starved for a little snatch of music, maybe he had a unique ability?

If he was careful, he could probably use it to earn all the food, shelter, and luxuries he could ever ask for, but if he wasn’t...

His eyes widened as the big scorpion-o-taur literally ripped a goat man in two.

These desperate fools would destroy him quicker than you could say “Golden Egg.”

_Suddenly the lights went out!_

He was knocked flat on his face before he could figure out that someone had thrown a bag over his head. When he tried to lash out, his arm was caught and twisted behind his back and now there was rope getting involved!

_Oh No! Oh no no no no no..._

He made a screeching trill of feedback as he started to kick and claw his way to freedom.

What felt like a catcher’s mitt made of knives pressed into his back, and a deep, slow rumble in his ear said, “No more catawampus or I’ll tell them fuckers what’choo just did.”

Alastor did the only thing he could do under that sort of threat; he went limp and hoped for the best.

“That’s better. Now don’choo fret none. Ol’ Growler’s just takin’ you for a little walk is all.”

His captor finished tying his hands behind his back and his legs together before hauling him up over a massive shoulder and stomping off with heavy, scraping steps.

As the din of the brawling demons grew fainter, it was replaced with a deep tuneless humming.

Oops, not tuneless. That was a butchering of ‘Oh! Suzanna.’

If felt like he had to endure it rattling through his rib cage hours before his captor finally dumped him on the ground.

The bag was lifted off and he blinked up at the shadow that took up his field of vision.

It was the creature in the duster. Up close, he could see that it was a giant, grey, golden eyed cat.

A mouthful of fangs grinned at him, and Alastor didn’t have it in him to smile back.

“Wanted y’all to myself. Hope you don’t mind.” The beast looked Alastor up and down and then traced one of his ears with a claw the size of a Bowie knife. “Poor fucking bastard.”

“Name’s Growler, If I didn’t already say it.” He left Alastor shivering against a crumbled wall as he moved to the centre of the roofless, broken house he had moved them to. A fire pit was already set up in the middle of the floor, and he flicked one of his claws on a flint to get it going. “Ain’t gonna tell me yours?”

Without any way to answer, Alastor just stared forward and continued trying not to lose his mind.

“Can’choo do anything ‘sides hiss an’ sing?”

That got him a little more into focus. He met those yellow eyes and slowly shook his head.

Growler snorted. “Figures.” He busied himself with setting up a metal tripod over the fire; from this he hung a large cast iron pot.

Alastor realized that he was about to be someone else’s meal for once.

He _started_ to hyperventilate, but then the strangest thing happened; instead of feeling scared, he started to feel hungry.

**So... so hungry...**

He panted heavily, his jaw hanging open and the static rolling with his breath. The world darkened, the reds turning into those lovely richer shades.

Leaning forward, he strained against his bonds. He already knew from his death that his bones would break before the rope did, but that was okay. What was a little pain, if it meant he **could devour the sweet, sustaining flesh of this sinner...**

A laugh like rolling thunder startled him out of his state.

Growler was grinning and chuckling. “Here you are, all trussed up like a cottage ham, an’ you look like _you’re_ about to eat _me!_ Sorry to break it to ya red, but I don’t think I’d fit in that skinny gut you’ve got.” He guffawed and slapped his knee at his joke.

He picked up a rock and started running it over his claws with the grinding shing of sharpening steel.

“Don’choo worry none.” There were too many teeth in that cat’s grin. _“Dinner’ll be ready soon.”_

_ _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Again, pic is posted on chapter 7 as well, but I’ve added it here for any newcomers.
> 
> Here’s Growler y'all!


	3. The Best Things in Life Are Free

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This was gonna be longer, but I decided to break it up. Not sure how many chapters there’ll be anymore.

Alastor watched with a bemused smile as his captor literally made them dinner.

The cat had already put some decidedly not venison meat to sizzle in the pot and was now slicing potatoes with his comically large claws.

At least... Alastor was pretty sure those were potatoes?

Potatoes are supposed to have eyes, but they’re not supposed to look around and blink.

Really, the eye motif was getting a bit old.

Growler stirred things around with a blackened wooden spoon before adding some water, salt, and a strange smelling black spice. “Hope you don’t mind it’s just meat and ‘taters.”

He stared at his captive, waiting for a response, so Alastor shook his head.

The deer welcomed the friendliness but was not about to pretend he wasn’t a prisoner. This situation was so far removed from anything he’d ever experienced that he had no idea how to react.

“There now.” Growler finished stirring the seasonings in and set the spoon aside. “Just needs to simmer a while.” He sat back and turned his full attention to the deer and scratched his neck. “Best we get to the ballyhoo. I wan‘choo to do somethin’ for me, an’ you prolly don’t wanna get... uh... caught with no pants on durin’ Angel Day, so I figure we got us the makin’s of a deal.”

He waited again for some sort of agreement to continue, but Alastor just tilted his head quizzically. He both barely understood that, and didn’t like the sound if it.

The cat squirted at suspiciously. “Y’all do know what the Cleanse is, right?”

Alastor pondered if he should answer before shrugging and shaking his head.

Continuing to squint and frown, Growler pointed at the wall to Alastor’s left and said, “What the fuck’s up with yer shadow?”

Well that doesn’t sound suspicious at all.

Alastor furrowed his brow. He didn’t really want to look, and yet he couldn’t resist. He peeked over his shoulder and saw that his shadow was there, but was in the wrong spot in relation to the fire light.

It was also a little more jagged around the edges than he was, with longer antlers and glowing red eyes of its own.

Alastor’s skin crawled and he tried to leap away, but he was still bound. All he managed to do was throw himself on his face.

The other demon cackled at him and his frustrated smirk of a glare.

“Lookit’choo jumpin’ at’cher own shadow! Yer a fuckin’ Greenhorn!” Growler pulled a jug of alcohol out of his duster and took a huge swig of it before relaxing out of the tense posturing Alastor hadn’t even realized he’d been doing.

“Tell ya what...” He got up and stalked over. “Ol’ Growler’s gonna give you a little benefaction.”

_What is that supposed to mean?_ Alastor tried to wriggle away, but it was no use. He was pinned into the filthy floorboards with a silent ‘oof’ His ears pinned back and the static started to overcome him again.

But then Growler backed off and went back to the fire, and Alastor realized he was free of the ropes.

He scrabbled backwards, prepared to run before he could be pounced on again, but the cat said, “Come’n sit, Red. If ya run, y’all won’t get nothin’ to eat, and you’ll be even more dead come midnight tomorrow.”

He was unsure, but figured he didn’t have much left to lose.

And the food was smelling good.

He sat at the fire like he was told, keeping the flames between himself and the other demon. He also made note of where the door was in case he needed to flee.

His host gave the stew another stir and said, “First things first, This is Hell and you ‘n me ‘r demons.”

Alastor’s brow furrowed, unimpressed. He started removing the dirt from his fir instead of giving his full attention.

Growler snickered and pressed on. “The shadow thing is normal. We can’t die from starvation, but it’s a fucking miserable time. We can be hurt, crushed, amputated, burned to nothing, an' worse...” His golden gaze darkened momentarily and his fur floofed out, _“Much worse...”_ He shook himself. “But we heal up quick, an’ the only way ta actually kill a demon is to run ‘em through with a holy weapon.”

Growler paused in his explanation to pull out a couple of tin bowls and dish out the stew. He pressed one bowl into his guest’s hands, and Alastor waited for him to start eating first before sipping at it.

The stew was boiling hot, but Alastor was so hungry that he kept burning his tongue rather than waiting for it to cool.

He found that Growler was being truthful; the pain his mouth disappeared almost immediately. It was strange to feel that sharp twinge with no consequences. Out of curiosity, he took a large gulp and cringed at the scalding sensation in his throat.

It was harsh at first, but as it faded, it left a pleasant tingling that made the fur along Alastor’s spine stand up. He had never enjoyed pain. But that... wasn’t so bad. 

“So the Cleanse,” Growler continued, “It’s this one day a year when a bunch a’ good-fer-nothin’ angels get down off their high horse and start sticken’ their spears in every demon they can find. Usually kills ‘bout a quarter of us, but overcrowding’s been so bad of late that the quota’s gone up to almost half.”

He noticed that the deer was holding out his bowl with big doe eyes. Growler held out a paw with a ‘gimme’ motion, took the bowl, and dished out a refill.

This round, Alastor took the time to actually taste the food. The meat was gamy, with an aftertaste unlike anything he had ever tried (yes, including human). Meanwhile, the potatoes had an iron tang of blood and the spicing was very brimestoney.

Overall it was disgusting, but to his new demonic palate it was ambrosia.

He continued to eat as his host continued talking.

“That brings me to my proffer; Cleanse starts tomorrow night. I got a place I can take ya where y’all will be safe, but the grub and the info are the only things yer gettin fer free.”

He let that linger.

Alastor was in the middle of chewing as he nervously wondered what this confusing creature could possibly want with him. He swallowed and made a, ‘go on’ gesture with his hand.

Growler took a deep breath and let it out slowly. He poked a claw from each paw together, looking sheepish.

“There... uh... there ain’t much music in Hell these days. Them raydoo things don’t work, and Levi-” he spat on the ground “-that fucker rustles any grammy-phones an music folks what shows up. Hoards ‘em all to himself in his palace.” With a sigh, he said, “It’s been so fuckin’ long since I heard _actual_ music.”

He refilled Alastor’s bowl for the third time, and took the longest swig from his jug yet. “I got good ears. I know that sweet warblin’ weren’t comin’ from that box. Don’t know how y’all did it, but I want‘cha to do it again.”

He had made his way around the fire, and leaned in towards the deer. “So that’s the deal. You sit here with me and play yer tunes for one night, and tomorrow I’ll take y’all somewhere safe ta ride out the comin’ storm.

Growler reached out his huge paw, offering it to shake, and was surprised when it was immediately taken in a deceptively strong grip.

Alastor really didn’t appreciate being tied up and hauled off, but what kind of entertainer would he be if he left such a thirsty soul out to dry.

The paw to claw shake sent an odd thrill up his arm, both hot and bitingly cold at the same time. It settled somewhere at the base of his skull; an obligation to fulfill his part and a certainty that the other had to fulfill theirs.

Huh... now _that_ was something he could get used to.

He rearranged Growler in his mind from ‘threat’ to ‘temporary companion,’ and relaxed.

Taking note of how expectantly the other was watching him, Alastor held up a finger. _One moment, please._

Closing his eyes, he took ahold of that dial within himself and turned it to the frequency he’d gotten before.

It was the news, and that voice... that was his understudy! This was _his_ station!

His chest tightened painfully and he switched away.

It had been quite the violent turn of the dial, and he passed over many more stations than he should have gotten within broadcast range of New Orleans.

He kept fiddling and realized he was picking up dozens of stations from all across the country... no wait... hundreds... some in foreign languages...

He took a deep breath as he realized that he could tune into _every station in the world._

However! He could figure this all out later. His host was still waiting.

The old cat sounded like he was from cowboy times, so he’d probably prefer a station from Tennessee that was full of banjos and twang, but Alastor was still miffed about his abduction and wasn’t feeling so generous. 

Growler had asked for music, but hadn’t specified what kind.

It's too bad the hats at the top were still boycotting Jazz. The devil's music would be most fitting given this was Hell 'n all. Still, he could settle for some light, toe tapping pop music.

If if was too modern for Growler he didn’t complain. In fact he started bopping in place and raucously trying to sing along.

Alastor was getting worried about the noise attracting other demons, but Growler noticed him twitching and starting and said, “Quit’chor worryin’. This area’s gonna be Angel central tomorrow night so folks all cleared out weeks ago. Ain’t no one around for miles.”

_I thought you said angels are bad news?!_

Alastor decided not to worry about it. This demon seemed to know what he was about, and there was still that deal providing a comforting weight in his head.

_He has to take me somewhere safe tomorrow. So long as I survive this ‘Cleanse’ I’ll have a whole year to figure this all out._

Growler for his part didn’t just sing. He drank heavily from that jug of his (which appeared to be bottomless) and occasionally told long rambling tales about life before some war blew up in his own back yard and got him killed.

Alastor had been confused until he realized the old cat meant the _Civil war._

The jug of booze had been offered to the deer a few times, but Alastor refused to touch the swill. Not to mention he didn’t want to get sauced when he was still in such a vulnerable position.

Once Growler got happy and loose enough, he draped himself over Alastor’s shoulders and said, “Ya know what Red? That fucker Levi’d be so damn _pissed_ if he could see me wi’choo. Fuckin’... radoo demon! Ha!”

He snorted as he felt Alastor go rigid in his grip. “Yer so... proper. Won’t even have a drink in Hell? Wha’choo even do ya get down here?”

Alastor was unsure how he was expected to answer until he clicked his fingers and wrote ‘cannibal’ in the dust on the floor.

Growler squinted at the letters and then grinned.. “Sorry Red. I can’t fuckin’ read!” He bellowed like it was the funniest joke ever told.

Alastor rolled his eyes. In his mind he crossed out the cat’s classification of ‘temporary companion’ and replaced it with ‘buffoon’.


	4. Crazy Rhythm

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Warning for gore.
> 
> Though, if you’re a Hazbin fan, you probably don’t need it :p

Alastor didn’t remember falling asleep, but before he knew it, the fire was long dead and he was being nudged awake by a thick, clawed foot.

“Get’cher ass up, Red. Need ta make hay while the sun’s high.”

Alastor glared at him grumpily and then turned his dirty look up to the pentagram he could see through a hole in the roof.

_What sun? The sky hasn’t changed since I got here._

“Heh, yeah. You’ll get used ta that.... or you’ll go ‘round the bend. Whichever.” Growler was much too chipper for someone who spent the night corked on something that smelled like axel grease.

Alastor didn’t bother smiling as he got up and stretched. His joints ached from sleeping on the ground again after so long and his head was screaming at him to get more rest.

“Best you turn that babblin’ off,” said the cat demon from where he was checking their exit.

Alastor blinked and realized there was a news announcement in Parisian French emitting from him. Apparently a pair of trains had collided on Christmas Eve and the cleanup was still ongoing... probably... the accent was hard to make sense of.

He switched to dead air and thought, _Guess it stays on when I sleep._

As he dusted himself, Growler said, “Can ya stop with the zooning as well?”

Zooning?

It took Alastor a moment to figure out that the cat meant the static. Could he turn that off?

He placed a hand on his chest and envisioned a volume dial next to the tuner... and yes! He could control the volume.

He turned it down until the sound clicked off altogether...

And then immediately turned it back on to the lowest setting when it felt like he was suffocating.

Growler watched him gasp and clutch at the fur over his heart. “Uh... y’all ok there, Red? Yer lookin’ peaked.”

_I’m balled up and exhausted, I can barely think straight, I’m literally a deer in the wolf’s den, and I’m somehow still starving..._

He twisted his face up into his best winning grin and gave the old cat a shaky thumbs up.

“Ha! Y’all do cut a swell.” Growler scratched at his fuzzy chin. “Hmm... That’s gonna be a problem when we get into the city. You bein’ all unshucked like that’s gonna have every motherfucker in the whole damn town tryin’ to haul you off to Levi.” He spat and growled, _“He’d just love to get his tentacles on you,” _

Levi? So there was another tidbit to file away on this big shot; he had guys running around snatching demons, he kept these demons in a menagerie, he especially loved music, Growler kept bringing his name up (and spat every time), and apparently he had tentacles?

Alastor really, really,_ really_ didn’t want to meet him.

And yet... he never wanted to meet any of his victims either. The more he learned about this Levi, the more his stomach cried out in **hunger. A seafood gumbo sounds like just the thing... **

_You’re going goofy Alastor. This isn’t like filleting a man. You can’t eat this demon if you can’t kill him remember?_

“Can ya make clothes?”

Alastor startled with a flick of his tail. Hot damn but this cowboy kept throwing him off kilter.

He reluctantly nodded. He could make clothes, but he’d need materials and time. Neither of which they had right now.

“Hurry it up then,” Said Growler with a wave.

When no clothes magically appeared, he sighed. “Look, I get that cloth don’t always feel good on fur, but I ain’t takin’ you anywhere like that. If you get snatched, an’ I don’t get‘choo ta the Emporium by midnight, I’ll be the one who’s fucked. That ain’t the way I wanna go out.”

_ Am I... missing something?_ Alastor looked around the room for answers that weren’t there.

Growler slapped a paw to his face and grumbled. “Yer all down but nine, Red.”

Alastor tilted his head. _That didn’t help. _

“Can y’all manifest clothes? Can ya make ‘em appear wit’cher powers? Some folks can.”

His head straightened back up as he finally caught on. He thought about it and then closed his eyes.

Maybe it was like his dials? Although, those weren’t an actual physical thing he was taking hold of. More like a hypothetical.

He imagined a suit like the ones he liked to wear out on the town; pinstriped and red to match his hair. It probably wouldn’t be the most practical thing for sneaking through alleys, but it was what he was most comfortable with. If it worked he could always ‘manifest’ something dark and concealing to go over top.

For a moment he did feel a shock of electricity over his fur, but when he opened his eyes... nothing.

Also he now felt dizzy he was so starved. His eyes rolled and he had to stumble to the side and grab hold of a wall to keep from keeling over.

“Well shit!” Growler scratched his head, looking. “You tellin’ me you got dropped down here with nothin’ but a song and prayer? You musta been one mean sum’bitch.”

Alastor shook as that sank in. _And here I though I was pretty swell guy. It’s not like I was killing folks for no reason. _

He stared at his hands and then clenched them, relishing the prick of his claws cutting into his palms. He took a steadying breath and let it out slowly. _Suppose that’s why I’m entertainer and not a judge. _

Oh well. No point in dwelling on it now.

Growler was back inside and digging through cupboards. He came up with a mass of cloth. “Aha! Here’s one what didn’t get chewed by critters!”

He tossed it to the deer, who caught it and put it on without question.

It was a very old leather raincoat; something that was probably out of style even before the cat got his claws.

At least it didn’t smell like a sewer.

Growler crushed Alastor’s ears under a black flat crown hat with a partially crushed brim and forced a wool scarf around his neck like a noose.

He swatted the man away and adjusted himself. It was no use. He looked ridiculous.

“It’ll haf’ta do,” said Growler as he beckoned his charge out the door. “We really need ta be makin’ tracks. It’s almost eleven bells ‘n we got a long ways ta go.”

Despite his bulk, the cat could move quickly. He ran on all fours like the beast he resembled and crossed the ruinous outskirts and then paused to make sure the deer was following.

The smaller demon was nowhere to be seen, but when Growler turned, Alastor was right there. A dark shadow at his shoulder.

Luckily Growler was too seasoned to be startled easily. Instead he smirked and said, “‘Least y’all can move.”

Yes. At least.

Alastor wasn’t even out of breath despite the exhaustion and the gnashing of his stomach.

Growler suddenly pushed him against the nearest wall with one of those huge, dangerous paws. The old cat wasn’t even looking at him. His eyes were narrowed at a vehicle that was passing by.

A horse drawn paddy wagon with a lady-spider on top.

“Snatcher’s ‘r cuttin’ it close this year.”

He relaxed off of Alastor who immediately started dusting himself again.

“Now that we’re outa the open, we’ll need ta take it careful and slow from here. Only folks around today’ll be the desperate ‘n the insane.”

And he wasn’t joking.

As they slunk through the alleys and side streets they witnessed countless ragged demons banging on doors and crying and begging. A large group passed at one point that were carrying weapons and smashing up parked cars. There were others doing unspeakable things in writhing heaps in the gutters that Alastor refused to even look at.

One oversized creature with an eyeless bird mask that Growler steered them away from cut a random weeping cockroach’s head off with a sword and kicked the wailing thing through the street like a can.

And they wandered through this expanse of misery and viscera and debauchery for hours.

It was **intoxicating...**

The longer they walked, the harder it was for Alastor to ignore how the scent of blood made the void in his stomach **scream for sustenance!**

“You ar’right there Red?” Growler asked when he noticed the deer demon’s glowing eyes. They were blank and circular, and the skinny creature was now panting and crooked, with strange red symbols floating around him. “Yer lookin’ madder than an old wet hen.”

The volume of Alastor’s static rose with a breathy crackle and his ears twitched.

**Blood... fresh... screams... these depraved sinners...**

**So hungry...**

Growler tried to grab him, but he sprang away too quickly and vanished.

“Fuck! Red! Get’cher ass back here!”

But Alastor didn’t hear. He was already too far away. Salivating as he followed the scintillating sounds and smells of some poor soul being tortured.

He came upon them quickly; a second story apartment where a demony demon was tied to a cross in the middle of an empty living room. A creature with a horse skull for a head had it’s entire front splayed open, with the flesh pinned back with hooks.

As the helpless demon wept and shook and begged, it’s captor removed its organs like it was unpacking its luggage.

Alastor watched, salivating, from the balcony. **Delicious...**

He didn’t even notice the dark eyes watching him from a window far above.

With a strength he’d be surprised by if he had his faculties, he smashed through the glass barrier between him and his meal.

He had enough awareness left to grab a butcher knife from a pile of blades on the floor and duck under the horse creature’s startled, flailing arm. He stabbed into the soft, yielding flesh of his target’s liver and danced backwards out of reach of retaliation.

“Gah! What the fuck?! Whadda you think yer doin’, freak!”

He snarled with an electronic wail, but froze when it was the bound demon who snarled back.

“Can’t you see you’re interrupting something here!” The eviscerated wretch screamed. “I don’t care if it’s the Cleanse, you don’t fucking barge in on another demon’s good time!”

Alastor completely snapped out of his frightening state and started to burn with a blush they couldn’t see beneath his scarf. He backed away with his hands up and tried to say, “Um... sorry. My mistake.”

Of course, the only noise he made was more static.

The horse skull demon pulled the knife from his liver like it was a splinter and advanced on the mortified intruder.

He cracked his knuckles and said, “Hang tight, baby. I’m gonna teach this creep some manners.”


	5. It Had To Be You

_Let me Go! Let me go! Let me go!_

The skull headed lug had Alastor by the throat and didn’t seem to notice the claws and hooves that were teaching chunks out of his beefy, cur covered arm. Green pricks of light glared at his catch from dark, empty sockets.

Alastor could feel the crushing pressure on his neck even through the scarf and was growing all the more desperate to get away. 

The creature drew Alastor’s face in close, almost nose to nose. “I usually only gut folks who’re into it, but for you I can make an exception.”

__

Nope!

__

Alastor plunged a hand into the hollow of one of those sockets and closed it around something soft and spherical.

__

An eye! There’s too many eyes in this place!

__

He grinned wickedly as he squeezed and felt a satisfying pop and squelch in his claws.

The horse skulled demon screeched and threw him out the broken window to slam into the balcony railing.

He was pretty sure something was broken, but he didn’t have time to assess what it was.

His attacker charged after him and slammed him in the gut with a powerful right hook that broke the railing and sent him careening to the ground. His gut had time to do a few backflips before he landed and rolled a few feet away.

Alastor lay on his back, stunned. If something hadn’t been broken before, it certainly was now. He tried not to black out at the sensation of bones snapping back in place and muscles sewing themselves together. It wasn’t bad per say, but it was such an alien and overwhelming sensation that his poor, strained mind was having trouble interpreting it.

A pair of arms slid under his shoulders and lifted him into a seated position.

He gasped and turned his volume down to almost nothing to hide his shrieking. Didn’t want to attract more demons to this fiasco. 

“Shit. Sorry,” said a gentle, feminine voice in his ear.

Moving his head hurt to much so he couldn’t see her face, but in his periphery he could make out a whole lot of black and white lace, with red apples sewn into a dramatic pattern.

His right arm wasn’t so bad, so he weakly reached up to check that his hat was still on. Yes. It somehow managed not to fall off. He tilted it to hide as much of his features as he could from this girl.

The horse skull demon landed heavily on all fours nearby and stood to his full height, growling and bristling. With one arm torn to ribbons and one eye socket leaking blood and jelly he looked quite a fright.

“Okay, that’s enough!” Said the girl. There was an air of authority to her voice that caused the brute to pause.

Only for a moment though. “No it fucking ain’t!” He roared as he advanced on them. “It won’t be enough till this bastard’s insides are strewn from here to the abyss!”

The girl shifted Alastor so she was supporting him with only one arm as she leaned aggressively forward. He could now see that she was... a normal person?

She had blond hair and very pretty features, and she was dressed in an fancy, apple themed dress. The only odd thing about her was the harlequin makeup that covered her skin, making her look like a pasty white, rosy cheeked doll.

_“Excuse me?!”_ Her eyes flashed from normal dark brown to red and yellow and slitted so fast that Alastor wasn’t sure he’d seen it. “Do you _know_ who I am?”

“Do I look like I fucking care?” His good eye glowed brighter. Haunting green playing across pale bone. He opened his mouth, and those weren’t horse teeth in there. Rows and rows of needle sharp fangs pulsated all the way down his throat like a lamprey. The rest of him grew even bigger as thorns ripped out through his fur. 

The girl froze, but Alastor manager to wrap an arm around her and get his legs under him. He pushed them both out of the way as the monster lunged.

It was strong enough that it buried its toothy maw into the ground and got stuck.

The girl forced Alastor onto his feet and moved the arm at her waist up to her shoulders as she said, "Time to leave!" 

But it was too late. The horse skulled demon pulled himself free and was charging them again. 

The girl's eyes changed again as she bared her own mouth full of fangs. A pair of horns sprouted from her forehead and a hot ark of power raced along Alastor's skin, causing his fur to fluff up under his coat.

_So she is a demon..._

Before he got to see what she was going to do, a grey and black blur slammed into their attacker from the side.

Growler! He was even bigger and wilder than before, with what looked like porcupine spines piercing through the back of his duster. 

The two massive demons squared off, spitting and snarling. 

"What in the Nine Circles is going on?" the girl wondered aloud. 

When Growler and the horse skull demon crashed into each other in a terrible whirlwind of teeth and claws, the girl demon started walking away as fast as she could with a still injured Alastor hanging off her shoulders. 

His bones were mostly back in place, but his softer bits were still mending.

It still hurt to move, but by the time they got out of sight of the fight he was able to let go of her and walk on his own.

He focused on moving away from the mess he'd caused and almost missed that the young woman was talking.

“I can't believe this is happening!" she squealed. She sounded happy? "I saw the whole thing! All that awful screaming and then you jumped through the window! You were trying to help!" she literally squeaked as she smiled up at him. 

Alastor nodded eagerly. _Yes! Thank you!_

Eating that reprobate would certainly be helping! He was impressed. Not many folks could recognize that. 

She beamed at him and... were those tears in her eyes? "And then that pard jumped in and saved us..." She sniffled and pulled a handkerchief from her sleeve. she dabbed at her eyes and said, "Fuck. Sorry. Um...I didn't catch your name?" 

Without any way to answer her, Alastor simply shrugged.

Before she could question him further, she was interrupted by the distant chiming of the clock tower.

“Five o’clock...” She suddenly grabbed his hand, startling him. “The Cleanse! Do you have somewhere safe to hide? You could come with me if you don’t. I mean, my Dad might be a little pissed about it. He’s throwing this big family shindig and you’re not exactly... up to their standards, but you know what? Fuck ‘em!”

She started pulling him back the way they came, skirting through the side streets to avoid the brawl they had left behind.

Alastor considered going with her, but she was such an unknown entity. She seemed so sweet and swell that something had to be wrong.

Meanwhile, Growler’s deal was still a comforting weight in his head. Growler _had_ to take him to safety, had to get him through tomorrow. If he didn’t... something bad would happen? Alastor held up his end of the deal, so it probably wouldn’t effect him, but...

The thought of leaving the big old music loving cat in the lurch after he’d done fairly decent by Alastor didn’t sit well.

The deer demon dug in his heels, forcing his escort to stop.

“Huh? What’s wrong?” She looked at him quizzically for a moment, before her gaze locked onto something behind him with wide eyed concern.

Alastor whipped around, but immediately relaxed at the sight of his large, hairy buffoon.

“Beggin’ yer pardon, princess,” said Growler.

_Wait. Princess?!_

“But that beef-headed shanny yer draggin’ off is mine.”

This made the demon girl _(Princess)_ bristle. “What, you think you own him? If he’s a slave than-”

Growler cut her off with raised claws and a good natured chuckle. “Fuck no! Naw, we’s got a deal, darlin’. If I don’t get him to my own Ace in the hole, I’m gonna be in fer one bad time.”

“Oh...” She sagged, disappointed, before turning to Alastor with a frown. “You’re okay with this guy? For real?”

Alastor nodded and gave her shoulder a grateful squeeze. She really had pulled him out of the fire back there. They both had.

As they parted ways with the strangely human demoness, she waved and called out, “Okay bye! Be safe! Don’t die tomorrow!”

Once they were out of sight, Growler clouted Alastor in the back of the head, nearly knocking his hat off.

“The fuck was all that? You lose it?”

Alastor, to his credit, nodded in answer. Losing it was as good a description as any. As they walked, it was already starting up again, and he had to adjust his scarf to keep the scents of Hell from addling him a second time.

Growler could see the conflict in him, and sighed. “Yer gonna wanna get a handle on that, Red. ‘Fore it gets you inta some real trouble.”

Alastor nodded again, more subdued this time.

The walk was short, and finally they found themselves at their destination. 

It was a rather nice building, especially compared to the slipshod construction surrounding it. A pair of ornate glass and iron doors stared at them with oversized aqua eyes.

Above the doors was a sign that said ‘Franklin and Rosie Emporium.’

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I couldn’t decide if Charlie should be in here or not, but in the end I couldn’t resist.


	6. Dark Was The Night

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This one was a doozy to write.

There was a bell, but Growler ignored it. He opened the door and walked in like he owned the place, causing the dumpy, curly haired woman and the... eye covered snake man in a top hat? inside to jump.

The man-snake was staring at them with open curiosity, but Alastor was so done with eyes by that point that he refused to acknowledge the unusual creature.

He slipped past the cat and started eagerly perusing the wide selection of occult materials this place had on offer. 

The woman glared at Growler, who smiled charmingly back and said, "Howdy miss Franklin. A pleasure as always." 

She huffed and shouted towards the shadowy interior of the emporium, "Rosie! The stray came back 'n 'e brot anotha one!"

Well wasn't she a shrill little thing? 

A much softer voice called, "I'll be but a moment!" from the back of the emporium.

The woman, Franklin, watched Alastor browse with blank white eyes that looked like they should be blind. "Pinch a one thing an' you'll be wearin' yer insides out for a month," she warned.

The dapper snake man - _is his hat alive? ugh..._ \- laughed obnoxiously, his hair flaring up to resemble a cobra's hood. "I wouldn't mess with magic users sssssoney. In fact, why don't I escort these vagabonds out of here for you?" He leaned into Franklin all suave like. "I could use some new test sssssubjects!" He cackled evilly even as Alastor found some grimoires to thumb through and Growler struck up a quiet conversation with their hostess.

"That won't be necessary," chimed the owner of that softer voice. 

All eyes were drawn to the woman as she stepped into the room like a drop of ink from a well. She was a tall and thin woman, perfectly postured and dressed in proper Edwardian ladies garb. she had a fine, feathered hat on her head, and a shark toothed smile on her face. Her skin was even more ashen then Alastor's, which contrasted with her eyes...

Alastor suppressed a shudder when they looked into his own. They weren't black, no. Calling them black would imply something was there. It was more like she was just skin stretched taught over a lightless void.

_Okay... so maybe eyes aren't so bad after all._

Alastor still felt like a hen in a fox house so he broke gaze first, pretending to return his attention to the books. There were so many; more grimoires than you could shake a stick at, plus volumes on witchcraft and spellcraft, alchemy, demonology, and spiritualism, and more!

Nothing on Voodoo though... hmm...

Behind him, the new demoness (Rosie?) gave Growler a surprisingly warm smile before she handed a neat little package to the snake man. "Here are your talismans, Mr. Pen. Better you toddle off home and set them in place before the Holy Host descends." She spoke with a British lilt that was as pointed as her teeth.

The serpent dubiously eyed the two roughly dressed demons who'd just entered as he said, "Umm... there's still plenty of time."

But Franklin was already pushing him out the door. "Go 'ome Pen! Maybe if ya don't cut it so close next year ya can stay fer a spot a tea."

"That would be ssssswell, but my evil inventions keep me so busy!"

"I'm sure they do!" she slammed the door in his face and horridly locked it so he couldn't get back in.

"Is he the last of the day?" asked Rosie.

Franklin glowered at her and pointed at Growler, who was grinning like he ate the canary.

"No, no, no! Mr. Growler is hardly a customer. He's our friend!" She reached over and straitened the fur on the top of the cat's head.

Franklin threw up her hands and said, "Fine! You can close up and deal wit 'em. I'm off ta me room."

Once she stomped off into the bowls of the shop, Growler laughed and said, "She's cheery as ever."

Rosie flicked her wrist and a fan appeared in her hand that she swiftly used to smack him in the nose. "You're late."

Alastor turned from the bookshelves, startled.

Not an hour ago this beast tore into that perverted horse demon and showed back up without a scratch. Now here he was tearing up and rubbing his nose like a chastised puppy.

Either she was stronger than she looked, or old Growler was sweet on her.

The cat didn't even defend himself. Instead he said, "Apologies, marm. Worryin' y'all weren't my intent, only I ran into a little..." he nodded towards his hanger on, "complication."

Alastor froze when those voids fell back on him. The demoness was across the room with his benefactor and the next moment she was in his face and his hat, scarf, and coat had vanished.

"Oh _deer._" She cooed. A little dribble of black nothingness escaped the corner of her bared fangs.

_I've made a mistake!_

"Eh Miss Rosie!" Growler gently took her by the elbow and drew her back a pace. "Will ya lay off with the creepy shit. Poor fucker's already jumpier 'n a jackrabbit."

He pointed to the deer demon, who was now plastered to the bookshelf with his ears down and his tail up. 

The woman flicked her wrist again and the fan transformed into a handkerchief that she used to dab at her mouth. "Goodness! I'm sorry," she said genuinely. "Habits make the worst masters. So who is this deer hart you've brought me? Am I to assume he's not here for dinner?" She directed her question at the both of them, but of course it was only Growler who could answer.

''Haven't a damn clue," he said with a shrug. "He can't talk so I've just bin callin' 'em Red."

Rosie's gaze turned less hungry and more curious. "A mystery? Delightful!" She daintily held a hand out to Alastor. "Rosie, deer. It's a pleasure."

Alastor was very unsure, but... the deal was done. He could feel it, so this place had to be safe, right? He was safe?

And this terrifying women clearly had class. It wouldn't do to leave a gal a like that hangin'.

Swallowing his fear, Alastor took the offered hand with the most charming smile he had in his arsenal. 

He blanched a second later when she gripped him like a snare and her other hand closed around his throat. Her touch was gentle though. She was almost the same height as him and she leaned in close.

Alastor was forced to stare into those empty hollows she had for eyes. They weren't like the sockets on the horse skull demon from earlier. He doubted he'd find anything if he stuck a hand in there.

He winced when a single hair was plucked from his head, and he grimaced when the demoness popped it in her month and swallowed.

He looked to Growler for help, but the old cat was parked at a Séance table and was taking a swig from his trusty jug.

Rosie smacked her lips a couple of times, before asking, "Did you put your head in the Abyss?"

Alastor blinked several times.

_The Abyss? That black sea?_

He nodded. 

"Hmm..." She squinted and tapped her fingers against her lips before peeling the poor deer away from the bookcase. As she circled him, poking and prodding, she said, "You weren't mute in life, were you?"

She picked at his raised tail and that was enough. Alastor swatted her off and danced out of her reach with a snarl, but she just continued on with her questioning.

"And what is that... sibilation you're making? I've never heard the like."

Alastor's body was wound up body like a spring as he glared at her.

_What part of 'can't talk' don't these people understand?_

But Rosie, to her credit, did notice what a state she had gotten him into. "Oh, how terribly rude of me!" She swept an arm out to indicate the table where Growler was watching them. "Do have a seat, deer, and I'll fetch us some tea... or would you prefer something stronger?"

When the deer wrinkled his nose in frustration, she said, "Something stronger I think." 

With that, she was gone in a puff of shadow.

Tentatively, Alastor took a seat across from Growler. At his sour expression, the buffoon cackled.

"Sorry, Red," he said as he wiped a tear from his eye. "Was gonna warn ya 'bout her, but then y'all ran off 'n almost got me fuckin' cursed. Figured this'd be a fine little bit 'a comeuppance." 

Alastor rolled his eyes and turned his attention to the collection of items on the table. There were eternally burning candles surrounding a spirit board, playing cards, letter dice, and even a pair of slates and some chalk.

He recognized all of these as trick toys the less reputable 'Voodoo practitioners' around New Orleans would use to squeeze cash out of ignorant tourists. He absently wondered if any of them actually worked down here as he picked up a slate and started writing.

"Can't read, 'member?" Growler leaned over to try and see what he was writing anyways.

Alastor gave him the dirty side eye and sighed through his nose. _How could I forget?_

But he was willing to bet that a proper Brit like their hostess could.

Speak of the devil...

"I figured it out!"

Rosie reappeared with the clatter of a tea tray landing in their midst. Growler's eyes widened and his fur fluffed out, but he otherwise didn't react. Alastor nearly fell out of his chair.

"That noise you're making is from a radio." She looked pleased as punch as she clapped her hands. The occult clutter picked itself up and fluttered around them, the objects escorting themselves onto shelves. Soon only the candles and the slate that Alastor was clutching remained.

"I only briefly encountered one before my death," she continued as she poured a decanter of reddish brown liquid into three snifters. "But I've heard they're becoming quite ubiquitous. I hope brandy is to your liking?"

Alastor accepted the glass, but didn't lift it to his lips like the other two.

Really getting into her performance, Rosie sat and said, "And that was the last piece of the puzzle I needed."

"Oh?" Growler prompted around his snifter.

Rosie leaned into him and said, "Your deer hart was a radio man, so much so that it defined him by the end, but he has also worked in theatre and music. He's a performer, and an intellectual, which leant well to hiding the fact that he was also a dangerous killer. His current form is a game reflection of his nature. A predator damned to an eternity as prey." 

She paused to appreciate the dazed look on the deer demon's face.

"As for his death: the murderer was in turn murdered... gruesomely, and not even in relation to his sins. A traumatic experience that ended with a bullet between the eyes." She emphasized this by sticking out two fingers in the mockery of a gun and touching them to Alastor's forehead.

He barely even noticed. The reminder of his death had the echo of growling and barking in his ears. The dogs tore at him, and the ropes bit at his wrists and ankles, and he couldn't move, and...

_Enough!_

''I think you got 'em pegged a little too well," said Growler. "Y'all okay there, Red?"

No use hiding what's already been seen. Alastor shook his head. No, he was not okay.

He was impressed though. This Rosie gal was as much a performer as he was, and he'd have taken her for a psychic if he didn't know cats who ran the exact same con. That whole bit was more Conen Doyle than Crowley.

"Did I leave anything out?" she asked with faux innocence. 

He smiled warmly and held up the slate, on which he had written, 'Hello. My name is Alastor.'

Growler looked baffled, but Rosie tutted. "How silly of me to forget. His name is Alastor."

Okay, so he kinda liked this demoness, even if she was a bit creepy. He toasted her and downed his brandy in one go, sense be damned. He needed something to loosen his nerves before they snapped like the strings on an over-played violin.

"Fer fuck sakes," Growler grumbled. "This damn prude wouldn't drink a drop wit me last night!"

Rosie poured another for her guest and frowned at the cat. "Mr. Growler. Your hooch is so foul that I'd be concerned for his afterlife if he had."

Alastor genuinely laughed at that, making that strange rapid tuning noise. He was tired and hungry enough that the first shot of liquor had him half-corked. It took him almost a whole minute to realize there was ragtime swinging through the room.

He cut the music with a scratch and got ready to run.

But Rosie, ever the lady, kept her posture, took a sip of her drink, placed her glass down, and then smacked Growler in the nose with her fan again.

"Yow! What was that for?!"

The candles flickered low and the shadows of the shop grew long and strange. Alastor twitched nervously. He could swear there were... creatures leering at then from the dark.

"You failed to mention the pretty deer is also a songbird." She rose as she spoke and loomed over the bemused old cowboy. "Who did you liberate him from, Mr. Growler? Who's wrath have you drawn to my home?!"

Growler just laughed and took her hands in his claws. "Why no one, Miss Rosie! Red... er... Al here is green as an apple in June! Was jumpin' at his own shadow only yesterday."

The lights returned to normal as Rosie sat down and raised a brow towards the demon in question. "He's... an unknown?"

"Oh yeah. Found the lucky bastard wanderin' round the First Circle lookin' like a lost faun. Least e's had the sense to keep that music under wraps..._ till now."_

Alastor lowered his ears in contrition. To be on the up and up, that was a real idiot move just now.

With a sigh, Rosie said, "Is _this _the only reason you came back?"

Growler's glass was already empty so he went back to drinking from his jug. "Naw." He wiped his lips with the back of a paw. "Couldn'a gone fer a long walk on Angel Day without sayin' goodby ta my finest lady friend." 

Rosie's lips pursed and her grip on her tumbler was almost tight enough to shutter it. The shadows threatened to grow again, but then she slumped with an expression that was like peering backstage at a show and realizing it was all just plywood and fools. She pointed at Alastor and said, "He can't stay."

"He's gotta," the cat countered. "Least till tomorrow at midnight."

"Growler..." she sounded very tired then. "This is _not_ my territory and the old witch," she pointed at the ceiling, presumably in the direction of Franklin's room, "is hardly going put up some random tatterdemalion in her shop for free." 

"Made a deal with 'em." 

"You _didn't!"_

Alastor watched the back and forth like it was the most tense badminton match in history. It would be more entertaining if he wasn't the metaphorical birdie.

As it was, Growler finished explaining the terms of the deal and added, "Kick 'em out 'fore tomorrow at midnight and y'all 'r gonna damn my crooked soul even more than it already is."

Rosie breathed out through her nose, pinned Alastor with her coldest, darkest glare, and said, "Young demon, I hope you appreciate how truly fortunate you are. Why, I'd call it serendipitous,” she added bitterly.

Alastor looked around at the wealth of materials he'd found himself in with possibilities percolating whip quick in his mind.

_So would I, my dear. So would I..._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I wanted to give a shout out to everyone who’s posted comments so far. Sorry I don’t respond to more of them. Technically I don’t even have time to work on this fic.
> 
> I really appreciate all the support.
> 
> Thanks


	7. Farewell Blues

Rosie had given Growler a very solemn hug and gone off to her own space shortly after their conversation. It was now past 11 and Alastor was left scowling tiredly at the old cat, who refused to stop drinking and talking.

_Just go to bed already!_

He had work to do and was pretty sure Growler would try to stop him if he started helping himself to Franklin and Rosie’s wares.

There was a small mantle clock hidden somewhere in the clutter that kept chiming along with the clocktower, and when it rang out half-past, Growler grew quiet.

“Why’r ya still up, Red?” he asked. “Y’all look ready ta keel over.”

Alastor blinked slowly at him and tapped his claws on the table.

“Not that I don’t ‘preciate the company.” Growler tucked his jug into his coat and sighed. “Do... do y’all understand why yer here? In Hell, I mean?”

The deer sat up a little, intrigued by the sudden shift in conversation. He itched to say that he murdered and ate people, but settled on nodding with a little lift of one shoulder.

_Of course._

Growler chuckled. “I can respect a man who can stand his gaff. You’re doin’ better ‘n I did. Couldn’t even figure out what the fuck I was doin’ here at first. Thought I lived my life well. Kept the drinkin’ ‘n gamblin’ ‘n womanizin’ to a minimum and confessed my sins every Sunday.” He growled deep in his throat, and bared his teeth at no one in particular. “Never-mind that I was a cruel as shit slave runner. Never-mind that I tortured women and kids ‘n killed folks fer trying ta catch just a lick ‘a freedom.”

His ears flattened out and his claws dug furrows into the wood. “Figured if the big Auger upstairs didn’t like it, he’d ‘a carved _‘thou shall not own folks’_ inta them stones. ‘Course like a damn idjit, I missed the whole point of that story.”

He noticed the sudden tremble in Alastor; the way the deer’s back had gone rigid and his eyes had become strange little glowing disks.

“Sheee-yit.” Growler cringed and lowered his eyes in shame. “I assumed ‘cause y’all ‘r so pale, but... you were colored, weren’t’cha...”

Alastor snapped out of the dark rage and hunger that had taken him. He closed his eyes, took a long, steadying breath, and wiggled his left hand in the universal ‘so-so’ gesture. It was about all he could do to convey the complicated mess that was his heritage.

“Ah... mixed...” Growler was silent and still for a long time, before he shrugged his big duster off and leaned far across the table so that his right shoulder was close enough for Alastor to touch. He lifted some fur that had been carefully grown out. There was a symbol there, white scarred flesh in the shape of an infinity sign with a two armed cross coming out of it; the same mark that was on the side of the Snatcher’s coach.

“This here’s the Leviathan’s Cross,” Growler said with a catch in his throat. Once Alastor had a good look, he hurriedly got back into his coat and hugged it around himself like a security blanket. “And yeah. I’m talkin’ ‘bout the Biblical Leviathan. These days ‘e goes by the name a’ Levi Hellmouth ‘n I reckon ‘es the worst bastard to ever disgrace this damned pit.”

As in Levi’s Menagerie? Oh...

Alastor frowned. He already knew where Growler’s story was going, but the cat continued on anyways.

“A few decades as that crochical sum’bitch’s pet’ll set any man straight.” He closed his eyes and let out a harsh, rasping breath. “I only escaped ‘cause he lost interest in me, but you... Red. Best you pull in yer horns ‘n stay the fuck away from ‘em, ya hear? Between yer looks and the raydoo thing, if he ever got his slimy tentacles ‘round ya, you’d be better off ta cash in on an Angel’s spear.”

Eyes wide and ears down, Alastor gulped. _Noted._

Growler chuckled before glancing at the clock. 10 minutes to midnight.

With an exaggerated groan, he pushed himself up and stretched. “Whelp... ‘bout time I be gettin’ on. Night’s young and I’m still fair ta middlin’.”

Alastor rose with him in alarm.

_Wait! You’re going out there!?!_

Growler patted Alastor’s shoulder and said, “S’allright. I ain’t hangin’ up my fiddle just yet, only I made a list a things I’d do if I ever got free, ‘n the last item is killin’ me one a’ them feathery bastards. And yeah... ‘m prolly gonna die, but I’ve long soured on this place and I’d rather go out on my feet ‘n by my own terms.”

With that, he walked to the door and laid a paw on the handle. He paused. “Ain’t no redemption down here, Red. Our chance was before, ‘n our punishment is... _this.”_ He swung a claw around at the general area before looking over his shoulder at his temporary companion. “Ain’t no undoin’ what’s bin done, but... ‘m glad I could do right by someone in the end.” He laughed. “Listen ta me, goin’ all sentimental. If I’m still alive by mornin’, will ya’ play me s’more ‘a them sweet tunes?”

It was a real fight for Alastor to put a smile on his face this time, which was unusual for him. Smiling usually came easily, even when the chips were down. He nodded.

_Yes please. Come back and I’ll play you all the music you want. Why I’ll even dance!_

The old cat beamed at him before slipping out the door and locking it behind himself.

Alastor stood there, alone, until he heard the clocks strike 12 along with a haunting wail of a siren. There was screaming outside, roaring, explosions.

He had only been a child during the Great War, but he imagined this was what it sounded like.

He shook himself. He’d only known the cat for 2 days and... yes; he owed him his life, but there was no need to get all emotional over a relative stranger.

Besides, there was work to do.

Alastor swept through the shop, gathering herbs and salts and oils. He snooped through drawers until he found some cloth and a sewing kit, and he searched every nook and cranny till he found that one, most essential ingredient; a curly, brown strand of hair.

With a quick and practiced hand, he crafted a small pouch with a drawstring and a long woven chord so it could be hung around the neck. As he placed pinches of this and that inside, he concentrated on the incantations his mother had taught him so so long ago. They were meant to be spoken aloud, but since that wasn't an option, the Loa would have to accept his thoughts instead.

Nearing completion, Alastor was about to get up to find a pen and paper to copy down a Veve, when he noticed that his concentration had caused the glowing red symbols that had been haunting him to return.

More out of curiosity than anything, he tried to touch one. It fluttered just out of reach like a thirsty mosquito. He picked out Santa Muerte’s Veve and shooed it into the bag.

Much to his surprise, the interior of the unfinished gris-gris glowed with red light and a strange power that tingled up his arm.

_Well that’s never happened before!_

His physical body was dead, so perhaps his connection to the spiritual power of Voodoo was much stronger now that he was, in a sense, a spirit himself?

Excited, Alastor, dropped the curly hair inside the bag and blew into it. The light went out in a sparkly puff of red dust and he could feel the success thrumming through him.

It had been a very long time since he truly believed in Voodoo. He kept it in his heart more as a cultural thing and out of respect for his mother, but this...

This was real! It was a power he could wield and use to his own benefit and to other’s detriment.

It was strange, though. The Loa were beings of duality, unlike the angels and demons of Christianity. They didn’t stand for good or evil, and so he had seen no sign of their presence down here in Hell; aside from the Veves of course.

Did this mean they were real and were aiding him from some other plane than Heaven, Hell, or the living world? Or was this power coming from himself and simply being channeled through something familiar?

Oh well. It hardly mattered. He could do Voodoo and Hoodoo. He could protect and heal and curse and harm... so long as he had the materials.

He went back to work creating more powders with a wide range of applications.

This place had everything he needed and Alastor would be damned if he was going to be kicked out.

Eventually he fell asleep with his face in a bowl of salt and was jolted awake hours later by a screech.

“Wot is this! Why’re ya still ‘ere?!? Thot ya’d ‘elp yaself ta me wares did’jya?”

It was Franklin herself.

Alastor sleepily wiped his face with both hands and looked to the clock to see it was 6am.

“Don’t you ignore me, ya bloody thief!” She held her hands out, palms up, and a sort of vine sprouted between them; black and covered with nasty thorns.

When she started advancing on him, Alastor threw the gris-gris he’d put her hair into at her and smiled to himself when she caught it. Hopefully she’d be able to sense it, and...

_Yes!_

Franklin froze, her vacant white eyes wide with shock as she looked down at the little bag in her hand. “Wot...” she said breathlessly. “Wot is this?”

Alastor picked up the slate and chalk he kept nearby and scrawled down ‘Protection from ill-intent.’

“Ya, mute?” she said sharply. Her mouth was thin line as she stared at the deer with a whole new suspicion. “Wot is this _magic?!_ Wot is this power that even ol’ Franklin don't know it?"

Standing, she barely came up to his shoulder. She appeared to be nothing more than an average woman with average looks. The only notable thing about her was her white eyes and her tangle of flyaway brown hair, but when she loomed like that, with one hand on the table and the other holding the bag out to him, she gave off an aura of sheer menace.

He could feel then that she was the one with all the power here. Even Rosie, with her tricks and flair, paled in comparison to this arcane creature.

Alastor couldn’t do anything to stop his fur from fluffing up, but he pinned his tail against his chair so it couldn’t flag his fear. With an easy, practiced smile, he scrubbed the slate of his earlier words and wrote ‘Voodoo.’ He concentrated and the Veves emerged in the air around him, causing Franklin to back off a little.

She jumped back in a moment later, trying to touch the mark of Loco. It flitted away from her hand just as it did Alastor. “Voodoo? Never ‘erd of it.”

Alastor grinned wickedly. He had her hooked, he knew it. Just needed to sweeten the bait and tug the line.

He moved a bowl to the middle of the table and sprinkled a little of one of the powders he had created into it. He recited an incantation in his mind to activate it, and suddenly the bowl was alight with a searing fire that was painful to look at.

It was a simple Hoodoo. A ward against evil, but since they were literally steeped in the font of evil right now, the reaction was downright volatile.

He wasn’t sure it would kill a demon, but it would certainly hurt like Hell.

Alastor put the flame out with a swish of his hand and fluttered his eyelids at Franklin, all sweet innocence. He was surrounded by more pouches and powders, all with mysterious uses to entice a curious witch.

She frowned at him. She knew exactly what he was doing, but hadn’t expected it. Not with the company he’d come in with. Tossing the gris-gris in her hand to test it’s weight, she humphed, put the cord around her neck, and tucked the bag under the neckline of her dress.

“Bloody ‘ell... A’right. Tell Franklin about this Voodoo ‘a yors.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A little bonus. My take on Alastor during his first day in Hell, plus Growler!


End file.
